Merlin x Morgana Oneshots
by ThereIsNoOtherWay
Summary: Just a collection of all the oneshots I've written about Merlin/Morgana (Mergana). If you have any suggestions pleease review or message me, I'm always looking for new ideas or prompts. M mostly because I'm over cautious, none of the stories are particularly intense.
1. The Thing Is

"Come here."

Morgana Pendragon's imperious voice instantly compels Merlin to turn towards her, crossing the short distance over the floor to her, a shiver in his step. As he reaches her, Morgana gives him a sweet smile, and Merlin wraps his arms tightly around her waist.

"You shouldn't say things in that tone. It makes me flashback to when you were evil," he scolds, kissing the top of her head.

""Well, I'm definitely not evil anymore," Morgana lays her head briefly against Merlin's chest, then pulls away. "I just wanted you to help me choose a dress to wear to the feast tonight." She lifts two, one in either hand, raising her eyebrows at him in a question.

"You should wear the red one," Merlin points. Morgana rolls her eyes.

"You always say the red one. I think I'll wear the blue." She lays the long, deep blue dress with its complicated hem of lighter blue, embroidered waves over her wardrobe door. Merlin leans against the wall, arms folded as he watches his wife pull her day dress over her head.

"I still can't believe Arthur and Gwen are having a baby!" comes Morgana's muffled voice from inside the garment.

A grin splits Merlin's face. ""I know!" he says excitedly.

Morgana drops her dress to the floor and stands in her cotton shift, looking suddenly uncertain. "You do…you do like children, don't you, Merlin?" she asks him tentatively.

"Yeah, of course I do. We'll be wonderful godparents," he replies reassuringly.

Morgana hesitates, twisting her long hair gently around one finger. She looks nervous. ""Okay," she says, "That's good. Because the thing is…well, the thing is that I'm pregnant, Merlin."

Any fears Morgana might have had about his reaction are instantly dispelled as the court sorcerer leaps across the room, lifting his wife and spinning her, joyously, into the air.


	2. Do As You're Told

The day was unseasonably warm for spring, and Merlin could feel sweat beading on his forehead as he attempted to shift the heavy chest which the lady Morgana had requested he move. Well, perhaps request was the wrong word - demanded might have been better. Or simply told. It was a little unreasonable to expect one person to move all this heavy furniture, and Merlin could feel his temper fraying as the heat of the day got to him. It didn't help that Morgana was sitting a few feet away at the small polished table in her bedchamber, or that she hadn't moved her eyes from him once since he'd entered the room.

As the edge of the chest just missed his foot, Merlin felt his temper break. He turned around to face her. "You've only asked me to do all this moving so you can watch me do it, haven't you?" he demanded, exasperated by the slight smirk on her lips.

Morgana reached across the table and lifted a ripe apple from the silver fruit bowl, rolling it between her palms. She took her time lifting her eyes to meet his. "I think you should be careful with what you are saying, considering who you're speaking to," she remarked coolly.

Merlin shook his head, frustrated. "See, this - this is what I don't understand. I don't understand how you can talk like you don't know me."

With a swift, dangerous movement, Morgana flicked her hand back to the bowl, dropping the apple inside. Her engraved silver bracelet made a harsh click against the polished wood of the table as she withdrew her hand. Her eyes drilled into his. "I haven't known who you are for a very long time," Morgana said evenly. "Now, do what I told you to do. Or I will have you fired."

Recognising defeat, Merlin turned back to the chore. As the corner of the wardrobe beside him bruised his elbow, he couldn't stop an angry expletive escaping from his lips.

"What was that?" Morgana's voice was cold, and Merlin could hear without turning around that she was now standing.

"Nothing, my lady," replied Merlin as politely as possible.

She stepped up to him, stopping with hands on hips far enough away that she can still feel taller than he is. "No, I heard you say something. What was it?"

He didn't reply.

"You said 'fuck you.'" Morgana supplied for him, voice unyielding and unamused.

"Yes, I did, my lady," Merlin admitted, hoping that she would drop it once she had what she wanted.

"Who were you speaking to?"

"The...wardrobe," said Merlin, a truthful answer if a stupid sounding one.

Dropping all pretence of height, Morgana took another step to close the gap between them and took his chin in her fingertips, dragging it downwards to force him to look at her.

"Do you think that's an appropriate way to speak in front of a lady?"

"Look, I'm sorry, Morgana, it won't happen again -"

"Because I don't think it's appropriate. In fact I think you need to be punished for it," she continued over his apologies.

Merlin swore again, this time he had the sense to do it internally. He'd get a day in the stocks, at least, that's if he wasn't fired...forcing back his temper, Merlin took a deep breath. "You're probably right. I'm sorry."

Expecting her to call for the guards perpetually stationed outside her chamber, Merlin was surprised if not shocked when she dropped his chin and let a fingertip trace his shoulder. "And I think the punishment should fit the crime," she said, eyes narrowed, a smirk on her lips.

"What?" asked Merlin, not quite getting it.

Morgana pushed his shoulders back against the wardrobe. "Fuck me," she said, right before she kissed him.


	3. Say It

"Say it." Morgana Pendragon looks across the rough wooden table into the shadowed face of Merlin, voice frightened and teary. Merlin looks back at her, bright blue eyes timid, uncertain. He wants to say it. He does. But something is keeping him back, some hesitation. She is, after all, still the King's Ward.

"Say it! Tell me so I can stop feeling like I'm imagining it. Please Merlin. I feel like there's a monster in my head and it's lying to me. I'm scared all the time that what I think and I feel aren't real. It's hard to tell what's a dream and what's not. Please. Just say it," Morgana begs.

Merlin reaches a hand across the table, trying to touch hers. She pulls away swiftly, eyes filling with tears. She's scared that it's not true after all - that everything she's thought, it's all a lie or a dream. Morgana has the disconcerting sense that she will wake up at any moment.

Merlin doesn't know what to do; if he tells her, what will happen? What if somebody finds out? But he doesn't think he can bear not to have her know this any longer. What he feels for her.

"I love you, Morgana," he says quietly.

She exhales hungrily, feeling a faint burble of joy swim its way up her throat. It's the only time she can seem to find any joy or any peace anymore, with him. And he says that he loves her, and she believes him.

Merlin jumps up from the table and moves in front of her, kneeling at her feet. This time, when he reaches for her hands, she doesn't resist.

"Hey," his voice is gentle, full of understanding. "This is real. You're awake."

She looks down at him, green eyes naked and vulnerable. She's offered him her soul in her upturned hands, and he's brave enough to take it. Stitch up the fissures with his sure magician's hands and glue all of the cracks back together. And he says she's awake, and she believes him.

He stands up, tall and dark. He looks heavy and tired. Before she knows what she's doing, Morgana is reaching out for him, his face, lowering it and placing her lips against his. Deepening the kiss with her tongue. She'll look after his soul for him. Sweep up the broken glass and see for him a happier future through wide open windows.

And she's awake. She's awake.

"You are not a monster," whispers Merlin hoarsely, before he lifts her up and carries her up the stairs into his bedroom.


	4. You Always Dreamed of Burning

I.

You always dreamed of burning. The hot flames, blue and red and gold, licking at you. Closing up your throat, melting away your body. The agony of them, clutching greedily at your feet. The powerlessness of bound wrists wrapped tight around a burning stake and the smell of oil filling up your mind until nothing exists but fire. The shaking of you, until you think you might die of tremor not flame. Until you hope so. Quick, at least.

Never sure if it was nightmare or prophecy, this repeating dream, but now you think it's just fear. Because tomorrow you will burn, tied to the stake by your father for the sin of your soul.

Someone you love said that he would save you, but you don't think he can. In your dreams, he's always too late.

II.

It's the screaming that fills you, when they wrap the rope around your wrists and light the wood with a taper near to your bare feet. An uncontrollable, animal keening that you can't stop escaping from your throat. You wanted to die a dignified death: promised not to cry, but you can't help it. The flame, it's brighter than you thought. The smoke hurts you, your open, screaming throat.

He's not coming to save you.

But then,

he does. And it's not like a dream. It's like waking up.

So you run, the two of you, your stumbling feet and his shaking hands chased away through the country, followed always by the singed edges of your once-bright dress, licking at your ankles.

III.

These are the things you will remember, later:

The frozen flame, guards bound helpless by fear of his magic as he cut your wrists free. The still chaos of the thing, how it felt like a paradox.

How he was so careful not to touch you as you knelt together in dirt strewn hiding places. So careful, until you told him it was fine. Fine, more than fine.

His eyes. The way they looked like sky and went on forever.

His lips. How they tasted like safety and cool water.

His body. The home of it around you, the bluish tint to his skin masking the skeletal bones.

The ceremony you held among the standing stones one twilight, to mourn all the people you'd left behind. Including yourselves. You laughed so hard you spilled the wine and he reassured you that the gods wouldn't know the difference. When the stars came out you held him while he cried for the people that he'd lost.

The first child the Druids brought to you, her golden fear-filled eyes and her dark hair that looked so much like yours. He knelt down in front of her and conjured a strawberry in upturned palms, just to make her smile.

IV.

You are the last high priestess of the old religion and your nightmares are prophecy. And by your side, is him. The last high priest, the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth. You are not shadows, though you are feared by some. You are enchanted.

When the Druids bring their children to you, the caul born ones, the ones with destiny tattooed all the way across their souls. When they bring them, you teach them. Together you tell them the things nobody else will:

That they are blessings, not curses.

That not all nightmares are prophecy. That not all prophecies come true.

That being ancient and hunted doesn't make you monstrous. It just makes you kind, and wise, and loving. Because you know what it's like to be different.

He touches you now. You think it's sweet how amazed he looks every time. Like the twist of your fingers in his is some new kind of magic that he hasn't mastered yet.

The curve of his spine mimics the moon.

V.

He was always coming to save you.


	5. A Challenge in the Woods

He had, quite honestly, only come out to check that she was alright - it wouldn't make things good with the king if she'd gotten eaten by wilderaan or something just because nobody was looking out for her. But somehow, as always, the two of them had managed to turn a simple conversation into a fraught argument.

Drawn physically ever closer by animosity, Morgana is standing so close to him that he can feel the heat from her body. She drops her pile of collected branches onto the ground, intentionally allowing the heaviest ones to fall on his feet. Smirking, she turns, preparing to walk away.

Merlin's temper snaps and he calls after her, "You could just try being nice to people, Morgana. There's a challenge for you."

She whirls around, long hair spinning, and advances on him. "Don't challenge me. Don't you dare."

He raises his eyebrows, feeling reckless and spurred on by annoyance. "I'm a bit tired of doing what you tell me to do," he says.

"Luckily for you, you don't have a choice," she returns, tilting her head, irritated by his insolent manner.

"Oh, I don't have a choice. Nobody has a choice when it comes to you, my lady, I suppose because you're pretty, that's how you got every male courtier in Camelot to do your bidding," Merlin says harshly.

In an instant she is so close he could read her words on her tightly held lips. "Don't ever try and use my body like a weapon against me," she spits.

Merlin holds up his hands in surrender, heart beating fast, aware he's playing with fire. "I'm not saying anything about you except what I've seen. Everybody knows -" but whatever unwise thing he was going to say next goes unsaid as, before he knows what's happening, Morgana has him half bent over, one arm twisted painfully behind his back.

"If you call me a whore again, Merlin son of Hunith, I will have your head sliced from your shoulders and served at my table on a platter," she hisses into his ear.

"Got it," says Merlin. He straightens as she releases him, rubbing his sore arm. "That was a bit harsh, Morgana," he states.

She steps close to him, one long finger pointed into his chest. "Oh, I can be a lot harsher," she says, danger rippling through her voice like mercury.

Merlin opens his arms wide, playing at amusement just because he knows it will irk her. "Go ahead."

She moves fast, no doubt to inflict some new, creative form of pain, but this time he's faster. Before she can move from his reach, Merlin has trapped her arms behind her back, holding her wrists tightly in one hand while the other reaches for her long braid, wrapping it through his fingers and pulling until her head tips back.

As he looks down at her, eyes fastened on her lips, Morgana suddenly knows what he's about to do. He's going to kiss her. And she realises something else - she wants him to, very, very much.

Which is why she's disappointed when he stays that way, not moving, still, just looking at her.

"If you want me to beg, could you please just tell me?" she bites at him finally.

Merlin grits his teeth. She is maddening. And now he can't stop imagining her begging for him. "I'm not asking you to beg. I just don't know if this is a good idea," he says through his clenched jaw.

"No, it's a terrible idea. Do it anyway," she snaps.

"Fine!"

Still holding her tightly corralled, he slams his open mouth against hers, lips bruising and strong.

"Uh," Morgana lets out involuntarily, her mouth opening instinctively against his to allow him entry. He thrusts his tongue between her lips, punishing her, but she can give as good as she gets. As their tongues battle for dominance, Morgana feels desire pooling in her stomach, sending clenching shoots downwards. He pulls away, for air, but she follows him. "Don't," she pants, lips fastening back onto his. She's not going to let him go that easily.

Feeling her hips tilt responsively upwards against him, Morgana curses herself internally for allowing herself to feel this way about him. Then she changes her mind and curses him for making her feel like this. The hardness of him stiff against her belly, Morgana grinds her body to his, trying to find some relief for the throbbing growing inside her. Like a candle flame, like she's been lit up.

He lets go of her very suddenly, turning away without warning and leaving her to lean against the tree behind her, panting and weak at the knees. He bends to pick up the fallen logs, then begins to walk away without a word.

Morgana is furious - he can't start something like this and then walk away! "You're just going to leave me here? Like this?" she asks, unsure whether she's referring to the confused state of her clothing, mind, or body.

"This wasn't a good idea," Merlin states without turning. Morgana doesn't understand how he can sound so calm and in control. Was he really not affected at all by what just happened? But of course he was - she'd felt his arousal, the hunger in his touch. Why did he have to be so goddamn calm all the time?

"Clearly it wasn't. Maybe I'll have to find someone else to satisfy me, if you can't," she taunts, still trying to catch her breath, but he doesn't rise to the mocking tone. As her arousal dims, the full knowledge of what they've done jolts Morgana back into reality. With not a small amount of panic in her voice she calls up after his fast retreating back, "This never happened!"

"Yeah, yeah, and you'll kill me later," he returns, grumbling but - did she hear a smile in his voice? Oh, he is infuriating. Morgana presses her flushed face into her hands and waits for her heartbeat to slow.

What have they _done_?


	6. Shadow

If they could pick one word, it would be shadow. Shadow in his heart, shadow in her mind. Shadow creeping under the door of the hut, hiding them from view. Shadow flickering like a snake's tongue over their bodies as he knocks on the door; shadow in his knuckles. Darkness like wings on his body, flying him to her. Darkness growing in her like smoke, darkness so vicious they could hear it, when she spoke.

They are the shadow.

They are some slow drip-by-drip poison and they won't know they're dying, until after they're dead.

His lips on her neck, finding the runnels of her bone ways, the brutal sharpness of her clavicle under his tongue. When they get to the bed, her hands trace pagan spirals all along his bare chest. The standing stones of fingertips, the blessing pools of open mouths waiting for some offering to bring their desires home to them.

Her voice tastes the way it feels to look in a mirror and not recognise yourself; sounds like the kind of sobbing done in dark places, with your hand clasped over your mouth and you're gasping for breath but nobody even looks at you. She smells like panic, desperation, desire.

"You unravel me," she tells him.

His lips sound out his words with effort. His voice sounds the way a fire smells outside, all burning and loss and wood too green to be turned to dust. It feels like lonely, the hungry kind of lonely only one person can fill, the kind of lonely that stands in the centre of the room at midnight holding on tight, tight to your own body because you are afraid to let go. It tastes like homesick, but for a person, not a place.

Low and quiet in her ear, he says, "You are my treason."

They left her in the darkness, so darkness he became. And they won't know it's killing them, until long after they're dead.


	7. This Is How You Breathe

The pain in his arms is immeasurable. How long have they been like this, twisted high above his head? How long will she keep him here, torturing him before she kills him? Merlin moans aloud in agony with eyes closed tight, all hurt and flinch and fire.

He feels a hand, against his chest. "I can't do this anymore," he whimpers, head tipped back, begging for a mercy he knows she will not give him.

He hears her swallow, her breathing shallow and voice empty. "I'll show you how to do it, when you don't think you can anymore," she whispers so softly she is almost inaudible. He makes to open his eyes but her fingers come down over his face, fluttering against his eyelids to keep them closed, the way you would a wide eyed corpse. "No, no. Don't open them." She gives another ragged, shallow breath. "It's better if you don't see what's been done to you. If you look, it's all over." Her voice has all the surety of a memory.

"Please..." he whispers. Please let me down, please let me go home, please show some mercy, please turn back into who you were.

He can almost feel her shake her head, movement reverberating through her hands. Her fingertips trace his face, slipping into the corner of his lips.

"Open your mouth. This...is.." As his mouth opens, she pulls her hand away, dragging it down onto his chest until it rests over his heart, feeling the harsh continual beatbeatbeat.

"This...is...how...you...breathe," she whispers. "Just keep...breathing and...don't...look. That's how you survive, when you can't anymore." Her lilting voice sounds like a bedtime story; advice from the kind of mother who doesn't sleep at night, because she's afraid of what will happen, when she wakes up. He breathes, in and out, in and out, the beat of his heart jumping underneath her still hand.

They are all shatter and collapse, their pretty broken bodies held together with string and destiny.

This is how you live:

Keep your eyes closed, open your mouth. Pretend you don't know that the beating of your heart is a punishment. If the dark is all that's left, inhabit it. Your endurance will be traced on the walls of your prison and you will live, even though you can't, anymore.

The slight pressure on Merlin's chest dissolves. When he opens his eyes, Morgana is lying on her bed, curled tight into a dark, hunched ball tight against the wall. Her ragged breathing the only sound in the room


	8. Do Me

**Inspired by a gif in which the dialogue in a Merlin/Morgana scene has been replaced with the subtitles 'Do me' and 'Later.' If anyone knows the gif I'm talking about, could you let me know the author so I can credit them because I don't know who it's by. Please and thank you!**

"Do me."

Morgana Pendragon is standing at the top of the castle steps, her height giving her an advantage over Arthur's manservant, Merlin, who is tightening the girth on Arthur's horse in the courtyard below. She accompanies her outrageous statement with a smouldering glare which manages to effectively combine loathing and lust.

Merlin looks around hastily, attention caught be her words and hoping nobody else in the courtyard has heard them. His ears are beginning to burn red as he returns to the horse and mutters, "Later."

Morgana crosses the short distance in only a few strides and places a commanding hand atop Merlin's. "No. Now," she says. Her simple, two-word statement is not a request; it is a demand.

Merlin flinches slightly from her hand above his, knowing any more contact than this will most probably destroy all of his resolve. Cheeks still flushed red, he takes a deep breath and says with extreme effort, "I am busy, Morgana."

Morgana tilts her head to the side and allows her hand to run with menacing softness along his exposed forearm. "If you do me now, I'll let you be in charge," she offers, cloying temptation in her voice. She knows very well how hard it will be for him to resist such an unusual offer.

Merlin grits his teeth. "I. Am. Busy. We'll make another time," he manages through his tightly wound jaw, trying not to look at her. His hands brush the horse's mane as he tries to maintain control of himself.

Morgana pulls away, annoyed, and flips her hair as she turns away. "Oh, you'll be making time later, trust me."

"Not today! I'm leaving with Arthur in a few minutes," Merlin calls after her.

She turns back to him and smirks evilly over her shoulder at him, feeling pleasure at the shock her next words cause to him. "Oh, didn't you know, Merlin? We're coming with you."


	9. I am a star, collapsing

Merlin,

I took the unseen stars from the heavens and I put them in my eyes. Maybe you think it sounds romantic, but I can tell you it burned. Stars are fire after all. When your pretty little poison choked up my throat, stars were all I saw. If I could withstand the burning, maybe we'd get back what we had before.

Stars always shine brightest right before they die.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

I spun the sun like sugar toffee, treacle on my tongue. I let it fill up my throat with its light, spat it out into your lips. I wanted you to know how it felt to have the sun inside you, and never see the light.

I took the moon and swallowed it, bitter between my lips. On dark nights, it makes me feel empty. All of that shadow, inside of me. What's left of me? Crescent moons speak of beginnings; we can never have another beginning, but oh, how I wish we could.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

I wonder if you know what lonely feels like. I could tell you, but I doubt you'd listen to me. It feels like broken glass, shoved inside your belly. It feels like drowning with everybody watching.

Drown: (verb) to drown; drowning occurs when a person attempts to breathe while immersed in liquid. I was just trying to breathe, but the liquid of you filled up my lungs and you couldn't hear my sobbing.

Lonely is a liquid, just not the kind you can drink. Tell Arthur's Knights to stop looking for the Grail. They won't like what's inside it. I've tasted it, and now I cannot stop thinking about the despair. The cup of life is filled with forever and death and I cried for the endings we never wanted, that came anyway.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

You called me a monster, inside your head, because that was what I was. They said I was cold, evil, I had no loyalty. You said you'd never be like me. Do you remember? I don't want to remember the heaviness of your judgements.

I cannot stop remembering.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss someone.

Didn't you feel this, like a fever inside you? I did. I loved you, once.

Goodbye,

Morgana


	10. Storytelling

**Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with the BBC in any way (sadly), I don't own Merlin or the characters and my use of them is not for profit or material privilege.**

"Tell me a story, Merlin?"

"Go to sleep, Morgana."

The ground is hard and full of stones. The high, sloping walls of the cave are damp, dripping with the moss that lumps itself along the stony arches. Morgana cannot sleep.

"I don't want more nightmares," she says, lying on her side with eyes wide open and one pale hand propped beneath her dark hair.

Merlin, beside her, is on his back, chest bare and open, hands linked across his body. Like a dead person, thinks Morgana. Like a corpse. Or a statue.

"Once upon a time," begins Merlin, the flickering light from their small fire casting shadows across his face. Shattering and restoring. He is her beginning, and her ending. As she can never be his: his destiny lies with the king. The prophets did not convene before pouring their foresight into crystal and stoppering it. Would things have been better, if they had?

"Once upon a time," and Merlin turns to face Morgana, letting the stones bruise his hip. "There was a woman. Not the prettiest in the village, but she was unmarked by pox and that was enough for most. And she was brave...oh, was she brave. It was late one night when he knocked on her door, seeking shelter and hope and forgetfulness. A Dragonspeaker, hunted from his home. It was said that when a man with dark hair steps over your hearth it is good luck, but only if you care for him, and make him happy."

"Is it really?" Morgana asks, running one long, jointed finger over Merlin's shoulder. There is dirt under her nails. "Are you my good luck, Merlin?"

"Oh, only if you care for me. Hush - what happens next matters. She gave him some bread, and some beer, and a place by her fire. It started with a kiss, like it always does, and it ended with a baby. So when the man left, he was pursued by more than just a king.

When the baby was born, the woman did not scream or cry out, not once. Not even when he was born with a spider's web wet caul over his face, keeping him blue until the old midwife slapped his back. Not even when he waved his tiny fist and made sparks jump from the fire. You see, there was something special about this tiny bairn. His eyes were golden."

"Was that all that was special?"

"No. But it made him different, and that was what mattered. He grew up, apart, as though the mark of the caul had left a bruise across his face. No brothers, no sisters, no father. A friend, though, who would have died for him, and later did die for him. Just a boy with golden eyes, and a brave woman. And magic. Villages hold secrets, but they hold them uneasily, and not forever: when the woman grew too afraid for him in the village, she sent him to an old friend, who had kept many secrets for many people, and could be trusted with another one. And the boy set out, with only a name and a bedroll and fire in his eyes that wouldn't stop burning. He walked all the way to the city."

"What was the city called?"

"Camelot."

"What did he find there? In Camelot?"

"The king who would be his destiny. The other side of his coin."

"Who else?"

"The wise man who had kept so many secrets. The girl who would marry the king one day. And -" Merlin rolls back, flat on his back, seeing nothing but the high roof above them.

"And?"

"Oh, and the Lady Morgana, of course."

"Who was she, Merlin?" Morgana's voice is filled with pain. Something lost.

Merlin's reply is hollow; as emotionless as he can make it. "She was good. She was kind and compassionate and she cared. She had fire in her eyes, too."

"What happened to her?" They both hear the fear. If there had been another choice, would they have chosen better?

"I don't know. I guess she grew up."

An owl hoots, low and mournful. There is a bell tolling, somewhere, but it's better not to hear such things. Tolling bells never spell anything good for those who listen to them.

"Tell me another one?"

"No. You tell me."

"What shall I tell you?"

"Tell me what happened to her."

"Who?"

"You know who."

Morgana breathes in, listens to the crackle and hiss of the flames. She sits up, adds some dry bracken and watches the fire jump. Merlin would have seen the fire, reflected in her eyes, but he doesn't look. If you don't look, can you be blamed for what you didn't see?

"This is a story I read in a book."

"Does it have a name?"

"No. It's about how to make a ghost."

"Did you really read it?"

"Maybe."

They watch the flames. They don't look at each other, or out the door. They don't want to see the light coming over the hill.

"Once upon a time, a woman didn't love the man in the tall castle by the salt sea. She loved someone else, and he loved her, and they never stopped to think how wrong they were. It started with a kiss, like it always does, and it ended with a baby. She came kicking and screaming through her mother's cervix. A dent in the top of her head, as though her head were a grail to be drunk from," Morgana's voice wavers, doesn't break.

"This is how to make a ghost: take a girl with fire in her golden eyes and a heart that beats differently from everybody else's. Make her mother hate her so much she turns away from her screams, then kill both her parents. Leave her alone with an uncle who watches her with hungry, greedy eyes. Leave her with a king, who knows how to take what he wants. He will see her grow up with the casual cruelty that only those with much power and little heart can muster. Give her a brother: they were friends, once. Make her walk away from him, it doesn't matter how. Throw her a prophecy, if you must. Throw her a sister like you'd throw a dog the scraps from the table.

Make her watch, while people with hearts like hers, and eyes like hers, die in flames and under axes.

Give her one man who truly loves her, with purity and hope and care. One man, a good man who keeps enough secrets for enough people that two more fire filled eyes are not so much of a burden. Give him to her. _Then give him someone else to love._ "

"Oh, Morgana."

"When her soul empties out, don't bother to fill it back up. When she leaves them all, call her evil." Her voice is lilting as a lullaby. As hard as the stone above them. As mournful as the church bells and as abrasive as the salt seas that imprisoned her mother.

"Your turn. Tell me one more?" Morgana begs, and Merlin finds he cannot refuse her.

"This is a story about names."

"About names?"

"Naming. When a child is born, they are given a name like a gift, wrapped up in hope and love. Or, sometimes, in disappointment."

"You think only sometimes?"

"Perhaps. When a child grows, their name grows with them. It changes, to fit them, to clothe their souls like rags clothe their bodies. But a name isn't enough. You need a face, too. Once upon a time, a young man went to a dragon and he asked, 'How do you find someone, and keep her safe? How do you fill up a soul that has been emptied?' The dragon said to him, 'You need three things to fill up a soul. You need a name, a true name, freely given. You must have a face, and hands or eyes to see it by. You must have love.'

So the boy went, and he looked at her face; he memorised her until he saw her on the back of his eyelids when he lay down to sleep at night. He was given her name, her true name, her name for all time. And he took the love. As much as he needed, and then some."  
"But it wasn't enough, to fill up the emptiness in her, was it, Merlin?"

"I don't know why."

"Is it true? What the dragon said?"

"It's true that you can't find someone without a face and a name. If you have only a name, you will pass them on the street. Only a face, you can't call to them, when you find them."

"I have a name to find, but no face to go with it."

"Emrys," says Merlin.

Morgana sits up, straight and sharp. "What do you know of Emrys?"

Merlin doesn't reply, but Morgana isn't expecting him to. He's too loyal to the king to offer any help to the king's enemies. Besides, hasn't he just told her what she needs? A name, but a face too? Morgana has no face for the name of Emrys.

"I don't know anything."

"You're too loyal, Merlin, that's your problem."

"Maybe. Is that such a bad thing? To be loyal to your friends?"

"It is when you're not loyal to all of them."

They are both silent, remembering the same thing. The same day. Merlin has hidden the hemlock at the back of the cabinet and he winces whenever he sees it.

Merlin ventures, "I have another story, Morgana. A new one, with a better ending. We can find a new story, together."

"No," Morgana turns away, curling onto her side so she can't see Merlin's face.

"Once upon a time, an empty girl with fire in her eyes made a mistake. She did the wrong things for the right reasons, but she repented. She began using her magic for good - "

"No."

"She asked forgiveness from the king. She made things better for people! She filled up her soul with love and -"

"I said _NO!_ " Morgana's voice is full of broken glass.

"I told you already," she says, and her face looks too young to be filled with such bitterness and such sadness, "There is no other way."

They are restless. Merlin stands up, pushing the blankets off and finding his shirt and trousers. He puts out the fire. Morgana sits up, pulls the blanket around her shoulders like a shawl. She asks, "A name, and a face, but what about love? Do you need love?"

Merlin is disappointed, and it makes his voice rough when he replies, "Would you know what love is anymore? You, the witch Morgana? The high priestess of the Old Religion who seeks only Arthur's downfall?"

"Don't be so harsh."

"Don't be so cruel."

Merlin walks to the edge of the cave, steps out into the sunrise. Behind him, Morgana stands up, dropping the blanket from her shoulders. She looks vulnerable, proud skin bruised.

"I love you, Merlin."

But Merlin shakes his head as he walks away. He sounds tired, and very old. 'I've given you enough chances, Morgana," he says.


	11. Ask Me Something

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of its characters, and I am not affiliated with any producer, director, writer, or sponsor.**

"Ask me something."

"What should I ask you?"

"Anything. I'm tired of sleeping."

"I'm never tired of sleeping. Gaius says I never stop-"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear about Gauis. Ask me something about me."

"Bit narcissistic, aren't you?"

"It's called survival, Merlin. You have to care about yourself, to survive, or things will hurt you-"

"Oh yes, you'd know all about that, with your incredibly hard life that you could have completely avoided if you'd just-"

"You know nothing about me."

...

"Empty."

"What?"

"You sound empty."

...

...

"Ask me something."

"Fine. Where are we?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"A different place each time? Somewhere you never let me see? I'm all for secrecy Morgana, but you do take it a bit far."

"Oh so you'd rather let Arthur find out about us? Funny, and here I thought he wasn't to know 'anything at all, Morgana, I'm a traitor, Morgana, he'd have me executed, Morgana.'"

"I am a traitor. I am betraying my king."

"And do you regret it?"

"Yes."

"Don't lie to me. I will make you scream until you tell me the truth..."

"I regret betraying Arthur. I regret spending these times with you, afterwards. That's not a lie."

"Yet how many times have you come back?"

"Too many."

"Ask me something. I'm bored of talking about you."

"Death by fire or ice?"

"Ice. It doesn't hurt to die of the cold. It's just like falling asleep."

"I'd have chosen fire. I want to feel everything, even at the end."

"Only foolish people who have not lived would choose pain over oblivion."

"Only people who no longer believe in love would choose painlessness over experience."

"Hark at the philosopher. Ask me something else."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Mice."

"I'm not going to ask if you don't tell me the truth."

"Execution."

"There's something else."

"Death isn't good enough for you?"

"Still, there's something else."

"No."

...

...

...

...

"Take me home, Morgana. We're finished."

"No, not yet. Stay a little longer."

"This is the last time..."

"It won't be. It never is."

"That's what you're scared of, isn't it? You're afraid of being alone. The last of your kind, the last high priestess, and you're afraid to be alone."

"I am not scared to be alone. I'm not! I'm not!"

"I'll just go then."

"You'll leave me here? Again?"

"I was never there to begin with, Morgana."

Morgana wakes in the echoing chamber. Arms curled tightly around her body. Hot tears spilling down her skeletal cheeks.


	12. Wake Up - not a new story

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

This was originally a three chapter stand alone story, but it's pretty short so I decided to include it in the oneshots instead. Tw implied suicidal ideation.

When Merlin pushes open the door to Gauis' chambers, arms filled with empty jars to be filled with remedies, he's surprised to see the Lady Morgana already there. With her back to him, she's half bent over a table, as though her stomach hurts.

"Hello," Merlin says cautiously, moving into the room and clinking his jars loudly to alert her to his presence. Morgana spins around, looking startled and drops a small bottle onto the table beside her. "Merlin," she says, attempting a smile which doesn't meet her eyes.

Merlin puts down his load and approaches her. The Lady Morgana is beautiful, but despite her beauty, today she looks tired and wan. Her pale skin almost glows transparent, and is pulled tight across her collar bone, as though she hasn't eaten anything for a long time. The grey shadows under her eyes verge on purple. When he thinks about it, Merlin realises she's looked like this for days, weeks even. Merlin clocks the bottle she's dropped, moving to the table and picking it up.

Morgana clears her throat, "Is Gauis here?"

"He's still out, should be back in a couple of hours...Morgana, you know this is hemlock? It's poison."

Morgana doesn't look at him, says, "I was just playing with the bottle while I was waiting. You'll ask Gauis to come to me, when he gets back?"

"It wasn't out, Gauis always keeps it in the cupboard. Did you get it out Morgana?" He looks at Morgana curiously, wondering what use she'd have for such a deadly poison.

She walks away, towards the door. "Please tell him to come and see me."

Something seems wrong about the whole scene to Merlin. Morgana doesn't look alright, and he knows her well enough by now that he knows this hollow, empty voice isn't hers. "Morgana, are you okay?" he asks.

She stops in the doorway but doesn't turn around. "I'm fine." Her voice, thick with unshed tears, sets alarm bells ringing in Merlin's mind.

"Are you sure? You don't look fine. Come back, I know a few of Gauis' remedies..."

"I said, I'm fine, Merlin," she replies, but she turns and re-enters the room, stepping to the opposite side of the table where Merlin stands.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asks gently, longing to lay a finger on her face and wipe away the tears that have begun to spill down it.

Morgana lifts a hand and wipes them angrily. "It's just the nightmares," she says, "I've tried everything Gauis has said, but they won't go away."

Merlin rummages through the remedies laid out on the table, until he finds a purple glass bottle labeled 'Lady Morgana - sleep medicine.' "This is the one you've been using?"

Morgana nods. "It's not just the sleeping. I can sleep, at first, usually, but then the nightmares wake me up and I can't go back to sleep. I haven't slept more than a couple of hours a night for weeks. I'm so tired," she confides, tears still in her voice. Quietly, she adds, "I'm too afraid to fall back to sleep."

Merlin nods in sympathy. "Must be hard."

They make eye contact. Morgana looks away, as though frightened of what Merlin might see in her irises.

"The dreams didn't used to be this bad, did they?" Merlin certainly doesn't remember her looking this exhausted before.

Morgana lifts a slow hand to her head, as though by cradling it she might stop it hurting. She looks hunted. She whispers, "Something bad's going to happen. I can feel it."

They are both quiet for a moment, digesting the vague enormity of the statement.

Merlin clears his throat, and suggests, "It might help if someone stayed with you at night, to wake you up during the nightmares and give you something so you could fall asleep again."

"Perhaps, but Gauis is an old man, I wouldn't ask that of him."

"I'll do it," says Merlin eagerly, perhaps too eagerly, "I'll stay with you."

"You're offering to stay with me? In my chambers? At night?"

"Yes. I mean, ah, no, not in that - I just meant -" he says, scratching his neck awkwardly. Of course he's attracted to the Lady Morgana (literally who isn't?), but that's not what he's thinking about. Sometimes magic works better than herbs, and right now Merlin would do anything to put a smile back on Morgana's face.

"I know what you meant," Morgana says. Sexual misinterpretation takes energy she just doesn't have. "That's very sweet of you, Merlin, but Gwen is with me most nights."

Merlin smiles winningly. "Gwen doesn't have the medical expertise that I do."

 _I'll do anything_ , thinks Morgana _, anything if I can sleep again. Surely this is worth a try?_ She voices this, saying, "I'd try anything to get a good night's sleep at this point. If you really don't mind..."

"I don't," Merlin reassures her.

Morgana tries another smile, and this one almost reaches to her eyes. "Thank you, Merlin. You're always such a good friend."

"I'll see you tonight, then," Merlin's still worried about her, and he asks cautiously, "Will you be alright until then?"

Morgana nods, turns and makes her way out of the room. She takes her time down the hall, feeling unsteady and ill.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Merlin, what are you doing?" Arthur looks suspiciously at Merlin, who's walking down the hall carrying a large cloth covered basket.

"Nothing!" Merlin's first instinct is to hide the basket behind his back but it's too big.

"That looks like a picnic basket."

"Well, it's not," Merlin gestures to the twilight outside the window, "It's nighttime."

"To be quite honest, having a picnic at night is the kind of idiotic thing that I wouldn't put past you, Merlin."

Merlin pulls back the cloth on his basket. "It's lavender. I'm taking it to Gauis."

"Ah, to Gauis. Which would explain why you're walking in the opposite direction to Gauis' chambers?"

"It would."

They both wait, then begin to talk at the same time.

"Merlin, what are you -"

"I'm just delivering some to - "

Arthur gives a sarcastic bow. "By all means, continue."

"I'm just delivering some to somebody."

"To whom?"

"The Lady...er...the Lady Catriona," Merlin says, pulling the name from his memory with relief.

Arthur nods slowly. "I see. Well, don't let me stop you, go ahead."

"Right." Merlin disappears around the corner, leaving Arthur to shake his head in disbelief at his servant's stupidity. The Lady Catriona died a year ago.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Merlin knocks on Morgana's door, softly, so as not to alarm her. When she opens it, Merlin sees with relief that she looks slightly less ill than she had done earlier in the day.

She gives him a tired half smile, then says, "Merlin. Come in. Gwen's just left," she adds, as they move simultaneously into the room. She sinks down on the edge of the bed, "I told her she'd be no good to me if she didn't get some sleep."

"Won't she be worried about you?" Merlin asks, putting his basket on the table at the side of the chamber and lifting bottles of remedies from underneath the lavender.

"She doesn't know quite how bad it's gotten. The not sleeping."

Another knock on the door makes them both jump, glancing nervously at each other. Although strictly speaking they're not doing anything wrong, they're both aware of how this could look to others. Morgana rises slowly, as though it hurts to stand up. She opens the door enough to poke her head through, but not enough for anyone outside to see in. It's Arthur.

"Morgana," he smiles, "Have you seen Merlin?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I'm sure I saw him coming this way."

"I haven't seen him."

Arthur nods slowly. It's his signature move. "Morgana, I know you like to think I'm stupid, but I do have eyes. I can see what's going on."

 _Then look at me_ , thinks Morgana incredulously. _Can't you see that I don't have the energy to do this? Please, please, just go away._

"Perhaps you should ask Gauis to get them checked," she says, and despite her tart words, her voice is flat.

Arthur nods again. "So if there's nobody in there, why aren't you letting me see into your chambers?"

 _Please go away. I hurt too much for this._ "Gwen's trying on an old gown of mine. I think she'd rather the prince of Camelot didn't see her in a state of undress," she invents. It's a good excuse. Arthur look embarrassed as he backs away.

"Of course not. If you see Merlin, send him along, won't you, Morgana?"

She closes the door instead of answering. When she turns back into the room, her first thought is that lack of her sleep is making her see things. The room seems to have turned purple. Merlin sees her looking.

"They're flowers. Lavender. It's to help you sleep."

 _So not seeing things_. Morgana is relieved. "I see. It's a lot of lavender."

"I know. It might help."

Morgana nods, stepping behind her dressing screen. She'd planned to be in her nightgown and in bed before Merlin arrived, but her plan hadn't quite worked out. She'll just have to ask him not to look.

"I still need to get changed," she says.

"Oh!" Merlin gestures towards the door. "I'll just go outside...?"

Morgana glances at the door, too. "Better not, I think Arthur's still around. Just don't look?"

"Yeah." He turns awkwardly away from her and busies himself turning down her sheets, placing another vase of lavender on the table beside her bed. Morgana's gown has a row of buttons down the back; usually she'd be able to manage enough of them alone to get the dress off, but tonight her fingers seem to slip loosely off the loops, unable to grip the buttons tightly enough to slide them out. She lifts her hands to her face, frustrated at her weakness. _Of course you're weak, you haven't slept more than two or three hours a night for five weeks. And eating barely anything, too, because it's too hard to maintain a conversation and lift a knife at the same time,_ she tries to excuse herself. But the fact remains that she can't manage the dress alone. "Merlin?" she asks.

Merlin spins around, alert to the waterfall sound of tears that has returned to her voice. "Yes?"

"I can't do it. The dress. Can you help me?"

"Of course," Merlin says, thinking that if he doesn't do this fast, she's going to collapse where she stands. He moves to her, lifting her long hair gently and placing it over one shoulder, trying to undo the buttons without touching her. His hand grazes her shoulder and he sees her flinch. His ears burn red. "Sorry," he mutters.

"It's fine. That's enough, I can get it off now," Morgana wants him to touch her again. He's already retreated to the other side of the dressing screen.

Morgana falls into her bed gratefully. _If there's a god_ , she thinks, _please let let me sleep. Please don't wake me up again. "_ Did you put lavender in my bed?" she asks, looking up at Merlin as her feet find a bundle under the sheets.

Merlin smiles. "I told you. It'll help."

"So just to be clear, when you said you had medical expertise, you meant you knew lavender is good for sleeping."

"Pretty much."

Morgana manages a weak smile to meet his as she places her head on the pillow, trying to ignore the danger signals her body is flashing her at the suggestion of sleep, of more dreams. Merlin's cheerfulness is oddly comforting. Like always, Morgana can feel her hands begin shaking, sweat beading on her forehead. It's hard to breathe, and her heart's beating too fast. She hates losing control of herself like this, but it comes every night without fail. She curls her body tightly to the side to stop the shaking, tries to focus on her breathing. Merlin has settled himself down on the floor beside her bed, hands underneath his head, silent. He keeps his breathing calm and steady, like a charm to send her to sleep. Morgana tries to copy it, to listen to nighttime sounds instead of her own thoughts. In. Out. In. Out.

Merlin's steady motions are like a light, guiding Morgana towards sleep. Although she'd expected the smell of lavender to be overwhelming, it's really quite soothing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out...

Merlin hears Morgana fall into sleep and hopes for a miracle, for a night without nightmares. He stands up and sits down on the edge of the window, with no intention of sleeping - he doesn't want to risk not waking up if the dreams get too terrible.

Despite his resolve, he's half asleep when a sound from Morgana alerts him. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, he can see that's she's agitated, tossing and turning without waking, the sheets becoming twisted around her body. She's murmuring words too distorted for him to catch.

"Wake up, Morgana," he taps her shoulder lightly. "Wake up."

Her movements are becoming more distressed. A high pitched cry comes from her mouth, and she lifts her hands, raking her fingernails across her face, murmuring in pain. "Wake up!" Merlin lifts her shoulders from the pillow and shakes her gently, then harder. Her shoulder bones are impossibly fragile. Morgana's eyes half open and he can see the whites, eyes rolled far back in her head. But she doesn't wake up.

" _Bialtere_ ," Merlin tries, holding his hands over her inert body. " _Bialtere_." A spell to wake, but it's not working. Merlin stands, untwisting the sheets from her body; he's too concerned by her distress to worry about touching her now. He pushes the heavy blankets to the end of the bed and sits back down on the white sheet, grasping her wrists and holding them by her sides so she can't scratch her face. Her expression bends into pain and fear, as though she's seeing things he can't even imagine. He still can't wake her. Merlin can do nothing but watch, tears dripping from his eyes, as she lives through her nightmare.

It seems to take forever before Morgana wakes, although it's only ten minutes. For a moment, she stills and becomes calm and Merlin thinks that maybe she'll sleep deeply now.

Then she pushes herself up, a scream pulsing from her lips, eyes wide and terrified and golden. Three vases full of flowers shatter and the broken pieces clatter to the ground as Morgana sobs. Merlin tries to reach for her, but she pulls away, clasping her hand to her body. Eyes full of fever and fear.

'No," she sobs, "No no no no no no no no," as though it is a chant to keep away the demons. "Help me please help me please no no no no no," as Merlin reaches for her wrists to calm her, she jacknifes at the waist, keening.

"Morgana, sshh. Look at me. Morgana, look at me," Merlin tells her. Morgana looks up, disoriented and confused.

"Breathe with me, Morgana," Merlin says calmly. "In. Out. In. Out." She gulps breath in, gradually calming. Merlin doesn't stop his steady march of words until the fire in her eyes has abated. She falls against him and he holds her, rubbing her back in gentle circles, trying not to think about how close their bodies are. The press of her chest against his.

"I was so scared, Merlin," she says, muffled by his collar.

"I know. You're safe now." It's all he can think of to say. When Morgana pulls away, Merlin hands her the goblet of water he's prepared with a calming draught. She sips it, lying back against the pillows. She looks limp, as though she's been flung there, rags of damp black hair hanging like shadows around her pale face.

Merlin begins to sing, softly, in an old language. It's a spell to give dreamless sleep; he hadn't sung it to begin with for a reason - he knew that the magic of the song could interact badly with the magic of the dreams, and he wasn't willing to risk it. But now the dreams are over, it should be fine. Morgana's eyes begin closing almost at once.

"What are you singing?" she murmurs.

"A lullaby. Sshh."

Merlin sits on the edge of the bed, singing until Morgana's breathing is regular and deep. His voice won't allow Morgana's panic to take hold of her again, and without it, she's able to push aside her fear of the dreams. He covers her, gently, with the blankets then slips from the room.

When Morgana wakes the next morning, she feels more rested and peaceful than she has in months. When she looks to the side of her bed, Merlin is gone.


	13. Hold Me

I.

I want you to hold me

I want you,

I want _everything_

I want you,

I -

(Imagine my tense knuckles scattered haphazardly across the bent bareness of your vertebrae, like brash red candy thrown over the soft brilliance of some delicate musical instrument. Imagine the blackberry of your lips crushing mine until we quiver and leave purple stains on each other's mouths from feasting too long. Imagine our arms bent with elbows clicking and fitting like an secret on a tiny piece of paper folded over and over so nobody can see. Image our knees notched, our hips melting together.)

I want you to hold me.

 _Please._


	14. A Truth Spell

TW for rape mention and implied suicidal ideation. This is pretty similar to my Ask Me Something story but I actualy wrote it before that one.

"Ask me something."

"What?"

"Anything."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Fire, burning. The dark. Nighttime - falling asleep."

"What else?"

"That I'm a monster. That nobody will ever love me, or that I can't love anybody."

"What about me?"

"Will you stay with me, though?"

"I don't know."

"What about you? What are you scared of?"

"Of doing the wrong thing, or that I've done the wrong thing. Of drowning. Of the people I love dying."

"I'm scared of being raped. Again."

"Again?"

...

"Why did you say again?"

...

"You can tell me."

"It was a long time ago."

"But it's still hurting you."

"They said it was...a search. That it happened to everybody."

"That's horrible."

"It was the time the king in his almighty wisdom chained me to the dungeon wall. The men set outside to guard me."

"Oh, gods. I'm so, so sorry."

"It wasn't...they just...but it hurt."

"That shouldn't have happened to you."

"The cowards wouldn't even unchain me so I could fight them. When I tried to get away, the metal tore the skin off my wrists."

"I'm so sorry."

"My wrists, they were scarred for weeks."

"Why didn't you tell the king?"

"He wouldn't have believed anything I said to him."

"No."

...

"God. I'm so sorry."

"I'm bored of your apologies. Ask me something else."

"What do you hate most about yourself?"

"Where do I start?"

"Don't be like that."

"You asked the question!"

"You don't have to answer it."

"I hate how I can kill without feeling anything. Sometimes at night I lie awake, making myself remember, trying to feel anything at all. Or counting - trying to quantify the misery I've caused. But I can't seem to feel. It's like I'm dead already."

"You seem fairly alive to me."

"You can be breathing, without being alive."

"What kind of a life is that?"

"The kind you sometimes hope somebody will end."

"Do you?"

"Don't you?"

"Sometimes."

"You haven't answered your question. What does the mighty sorcerer hate about himself?"

"I hate how I tried to kill you."

"Right."

"You don't believe me."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

...

"Ask me another question?"

"If you could have one thing in the whole world, just one. What would it be?"

"You."


End file.
